


Ascenseur

by featherflairs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, Happy Ending, Harry's sad and awkward, Hit-Wizard Draco, M/M, Ministry of Magic, One Shot, Pining Harry, failed flirting, office life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/featherflairs/pseuds/featherflairs
Summary: There's a new hot French guy in the elevator but Harry can't shut up around him and its doomed from the start but he's super attractive and Harry just can't.





	Ascenseur

**Author's Note:**

> Au prompt thrown at me from my friend and I instantly fell in love (skip for plot spoilers)
> 
> "Draco speaking rapidfire french in the elevator so Harry thinks he doesn't know English so he just talks out loud to himself and kind of to Draco and it goes on for like a week before someone gets on and is like oh hello Draco and he's like good morning lovely weather we're having and Harry is like oh--my--god."
> 
> Took a weird amount of time to actually write this for something so short? 
> 
> Have some stir-crazy Harry with poor social skillsヽ(๏∀๏ )ﾉ

Harry’s life was bland for an Auror. 

Since getting a promotion to Supervising Head of Magical Law Enforcement, he was no longer sent out on field work or had a partner. At first it had been an exciting development, an office all to himself, a significant pay raise, a new title to add to his Ministry officiated signature. But it had only spiraled downwards. 

Harry came into the office at nine in the morning and left at five at night. 

He sat alone at his desk, made innumerable amounts of tea, and signed off cases that came and went. That was about it.

When Kingsley had offered him the promotion six months ago, Harry had jumped on it, thinking more responsibility would be a welcome challenge from his regular field work. He had been horridly wrong. All he did was sit at a desk and went through the same motions day in and day out, alone in his slightly bigger office away from all his friends and colleagues he'd known since the academy. Harry’s job was a step-up from field work and step-below any real authority.

He was only twenty-six, but because of the mundane routine and lack of excitement in his job, he felt like he was already in his late forties. 

The only exciting part of his day were his elevator commutes from the Ministry’s Atrium to the Magical Law Enforcement Office. He got to see everything from newly discovered creatures being toted to their department all the way to office drama and screaming matches whenever the door opened at the most opportune time. 

-

One Monday morning, Harry was occupying his elevator ride by staring at the back of a large man’s hat, entranced by the swirling rainbow of colours that moved around the fabric comparable to a sentient mist. The elevator stopped at the Department of Intoxicating Substances, the colourful hat man stepping out and leaving Harry alone. The next stop was for the Hit-Wizard Department, two people waiting outside as the doors flung open. 

The first thing Harry noticed was the rapid-fire French they both spoke, fluent and circling and beautiful. It wasn’t uncommon for multi-language conversation in the ministry, but rarely it was completely fluent and not half-rambling translation spells. 

The second thing he noticed was the tall red-headed witch in stark white robes, indicating a high positioned authority figure in the French Bureau of Magical Affairs. Her mirrored badge meant they were here for consulate work, which was odd coming out of the Hit-Wizard Department.

The third thing Harry noticed was the inhumanly attractive man next to her.  


He was dressed in a slim fitted set of black robes with mirrored double-breasted buttons, flattering a tall svelte figure that made Harry want to drool. His sharp facial features were curtained by nearly white blond hair, a confident posture with strikingly silver eyes glancing to Harry as he stepped into the elevator. Harry had never seen someone so stunning. However, he immediately ignored Harry's presence in favor of carrying on the conversation with his higher up.

Shoving down the vague feeling of disappointment at being overlooked, Harry looked ahead at the elevator door to avoid staring in awe at the beautiful man. 

His eyes reminded Harry of a storm. Rarely did anyone so attractive visit the Ministry. Also the man’s fancy cologne was becoming increasingly distracting the longer Harry remained in small elevator space. It was all very overwhelming and his heart couldn't handle it. 

Finally, the elevator opened for the Magical Law Enforcement department. Harry collected his bearings before glancing over at the man. The two French affiliates carried on with their conversation as if he wasn't even there.

Ignoring a stab of disappointment again, Harry walked out and cheerfully greeted their receptionist, Sarah. He carried on down the long hallway for his office, all the while wondering if it had just been a figment of his imagination.

\---

At five fifteen exactly, Harry stood in front of the elevator doors exhausted and strung out. 

But when the doors opened he came face to face with the blond French man from that morning. 

His heart thudded painfully in fear, frozen still in front of the elevator doors. After an stiff moment of waiting in the elevator and staring back at Harry, his expression changed. Harry watched the French man arch an elegant brow as if to question why he hadn't moved to get on.  


Harry blinked out of his stupor at the look, stepping into the elevator like he probably should have minutes ago. He pressed the button for the Atrium, clearing his throat and clutching his bag anxiously in both hands.

“Sorry, been a long day at work. Up to our ears in casework, something must be going wrong this week.” He chuckled weakly, nervous that they were now alone. 

He had forgotten about the man from that morning, getting overwhelmed with his aurors’ casework almost as soon as he stepped into his office. Apparently, there had been a misfile of some evidence from years ago and it was ruining several linked murder cases that month.  


After the attractive French man didn’t respond, Harry assumed he just couldn’t speak any English at all. There was a reason so many translators were hired every year for affiliate work.

He swallowed dryly, looking down at the floor and wondering why he was acting this way. The man was just another partner from the French Bureau, he wasn’t a famous actor or celebrity. Harry himself even held an impressive title in the Magical Law Enforcement Department, which meant this French man could possibly interact with him if he were involved with the Hit Wizards. There was no reason to be this nervous, he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“So, you’re from the French Bureau?” Harry tried again, knowing it was probably useless if the man couldn’t speak English. But he had to recognize the words 'French Bureau', the translation couldn’t be that different in French, could they?

The blond man looked over at him, apparently recognizing the title for his Ministry and staring at Harry mildly. His expression was impossible to understand, but after a pause he looked ahead and proceeded to ignore Harry again. Either he didn’t understand or he didn’t deem it worthy enough of a response. 

Which was a tad rude.

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering what the fuck he was even doing. Harassing visiting agents wasn’t good form. 

“I guess you’re here for work though, which isn’t the nicest reason to visit London if you've never been before. But there is a lot to do on the weekend, for tourist attractions. Seems so far off though, being only Monday.” He rambled quietly, mostly to himself. 

Since the rudely attractive French man couldn’t understand him, why not pretend he was a crazy person and talk out loud anyway?  
The man seemed to notice he was talking, but he didn’t respond other than to stare at the elevator buttons silently. If he was annoyed, he didn’t huff or start swearing at him, which was a good enough sign for Harry to carry on. 

Harry put a hand in his pocket, feeling a bit more confident. “I work in the Magical Law Enforcement Department, so if you’re involved in the Hit-Wizards, we might get to work together. Or, I’ll sign some papers and the Aurors get to run off after you, more like. I’ll just be stuck alone in my office all day.” He sighed, glancing over at the angelesque-man who had deemed to just ignore him all together. 

“I’m the Supervising Head, which means the Head Auror’s gopher. Worst career choice I’ve ever made, if you ask me. Which you’re not, I think you’re just ignoring me. To be fair, I would too, talking like a crazy person in a lift to a visiting agent. But unless its about getting permission for something at work, no one ever really wants to talk to me anymore.” Harry admitted timidly, staring at the wood panels and thinking about how sad that admission was. He'd started off so confidently, too. 

The French man stepped back as the elevator door opened and a woman from Magical Creatures stepped in. Harry stepped back as well to give her room, going silent. He glared in shame at the floor, thinking about how embarrassing that was to admit. 

Since the French man couldn’t understand him, it wasn’t really all that embarrassing. But it did feel nice to finally say it out loud. 

Harry couldn’t admit these things to anyone very often. Hermione and Ron were so wrapped up in work and their family life that whenever they did get together Harry just stayed quiet because people were actually talking to him. He didn’t want to intervene and waste time complaining about how boring his life was and how empty his huge house felt. He knew he could just go talk to a therapist if he really needed to, but he wasn’t depressed or mentally ill. 

Harry was just lonely.

And somehow that had translated to blathering at a randomly hot French man in an elevator. Yes, he clearly wasn’t crazy. Not at all.  
After a few minutes the doors opened to the Hit Wizard Department and Harry saw the French man walk out, leaving him alone with the new woman. 

Harry sighed in relief, feeling pent up from his embarrassing behavior. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to deal with anything like that again. 

\---

The next morning, Harry stood in the elevator completley scared out of his wits that the pretty French man would return. 

He’d spent an inordinate amount of time getting dressed that morning, faced with the horrid realization that all his work clothes were misshapen and unfitted. Harry ended up choosing a pair of black jeans he wore to the pub whenever Ron had time for him and a white button down. Under his black pea coat it all looked fine, he’d almost had to fire call Hermione for advice. The chances of her answering or understanding his odd situation would be low however, and it was quite an odd situation. 

Last night Harry had decided that if he did see the French man again, that he would try to properly socialize. 

Even if he couldn’t speak French. 

When the door opened at the Hit Wizard Department, just like Harry had hoped and feared, the stunning man was there once again. He was alone like last night, and this time wearing a mesmerizing dark purple suit that resembled something out of a muggle fashion magazine. He was certainly more professional looking then Harry, even though he’d attempted quite hard to look put together this morning. 

The man glanced at him in recognition, nodding politely and stepping into the elevator beside him.

So, at least he did recognize Harry, who in turn had a tough time dealing with the pleasant flush he felt at the small amount of attention. 

“Morning! That’s a very, um, nice suit. The colour is amazing, I wouldn't be able to pull that off at all. Looks fantastic on you though.” He complimented nervously, unable to help himself. The French man glanced at him, hearing him speak, but then choosing to look ahead again. 

Harry chewed on his lip, figuring that was confirmation in assuming he could understand zero English.

“And again, just talking to someone who doesn’t understand me. Definitely no point in trying to hit on someone when they can’t speak your language, Harry, I mean, why do I even try, right?” Harry looked at the man pointedly, who glanced at him with an arched brow when Harry turned to him. 

“See, nothing. But at least you’re not pretending I’m not here, you do acknowledge my presence a bit, which is quite nice. My employees barely even say Good Morning anymore. And I’m their boss, for Merlin's sake! I say Good Morning to everyone, but no one even looks at me. Its like I accepted the position of an invisible man who’s only use is their signature for signing off field missions.” He complained, shaking his head and staring up the lights. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing with my life anymore. I’m too scared to go out and try to pick up men, my friends are too busy with their new family to talk to me more then a few times a month and no one at work really cares about my existence. Also, now I’ve adopted talking like a madman to a French Hit Wizard who looks like an angel but can’t understand English.” He sighed heavily, the doors opening to his department. 

Harry stared out at his drab future before moving. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around again, though. Thanks for listening to me, I do hope you have a good Tuesday. Till next time.” He waved casually as he stepped out, slightly hysterical as he walk towards reception. 

Maybe Harry was having a mid-life crisis at twenty-six. He wouldn’t be surprised. Maybe he was too lonely for his own good and it was making him bonkers. 

Harry was just sticking it to not giving anymore fucks. It wasn’t like he was hurting anyone. Maybe he was annoying a stupidly hot legal-assassin, but if he had to choose, that would be an awfully fantastic way to go. 

Harry waved good morning to Sarah at reception, feeling oddly confident with his new realization about how awful his life had become. He'd definitely managed to be more social this morning.

\---

That night when he was standing in front of the elevator, Harry was lit up like a Christmas tree. He was looking forward to his nightly elevator ride, to see if his French angel was there again. Perhaps it was ridiculous to think of him like that, but Harry still didn’t know his name and he felt like it was too late to ask. So odd pet names it was. 

When the doors opened, Harry felt his heart pounding again, just like yesterday, except now with excitement. 

The man was there again, this time with a curious look in his grey eyes and nodding politely exactly like he had that morning.

Thus, proceeded another odd conversation where Harry talked about his life to a stranger who probably found him annoying but didn’t speak the same language as him. 

So he couldn’t actually tell him to stop. And since he couldn’t speak English, there was no harm in Harry essentially spilling his guts to a total stranger.

Which shamefully, he did. 

Between people stepping on and off the elevator, from the morning lift and the evening lift, Harry droned on about his life in furtive detail. 

He talked about how Hermione and Ron were too busy with their babies and new couple friends to see him anymore, how his subordinates didn’t treat him like their partner and only a superior who wasn’t to be trusted, he even talked about his failed trips to muggle gay bars in an attempt to get his sexuality figured out. 

That had been a long few years of confusion and a trail of failed relationships. Even when he had gone out to try and remedy his budding sexuality, Harry never had the courage to approach anyone. He didn't know where his Gryffindor courage had gone, but he was starting to drown under the knowledge of perhaps never finding someone.

Every time Harry got onto the lift with the French man he was greeted with a polite nod and a look of curiosity. The man clearly knew Harry was nuts, but he politely tolerated his odd behavior while Harry rambled on about his boring and pathetic life.  


Thursday night though, after admitting his insecurities of never getting hold of his life enough to find a partner or a better job, Harry went home feeling newly inspired.

He had decided to do something stupid.

Even stupider then spilling his life story to a random agent from another government just because the man was trapped in an elevator with him for 5 minutes every morning and night. 

But Harry had hope. 

He went home with a plan, combing over the Black Family’s library at Grimmauld place for anything with French translations in it or spells that could help him with translations. 

Harry even stayed up late trying to make sure his wording and pronunciations were alright. He’d already made a fool of himself for most of the week in his own native language, he just wanted to be semi-competent at it in french for a short 5 minute elevator ride.

\---

Friday morning, Harry stood in the lift, anxiously clinging to his bag and reciting the script in his head like a mantra. 

When the blond man stepped into the elevator with his customary nod and curious look, Harry grinned back like a smitten teenager.

Harry cleared his throat once the doors shut, turning to his elevator companion and trying to get his attention. At the change of routine, the man glanced at him, grey eyes on Harry’s in intrigue.

“Bon-jour. Je ma pelle Harry.” He introduced himself in broken, shaky French. 

The man slowly smiled once recognizing the words, his regular formal expression breaking in amusement at Harry’s attempt to speak French. The man seemed genuinely pleased with Harry’s effort, pushing hair behind his ear endearingly as he turned to him in interest. And if Harry thought he was beautiful before, Merlin. It was unearthly to see him smile. 

"Bonjour, sa va?" The man responded easily, trying to encourage Harry's attempt at French by speaking slower.

So Harry grinned anyway, feeling hopeful and clearing his throat again, tripping up at the unfamiliar phrase. 

“Er. Veux-tu diner avec moi?” He carried on, trying his best to sound confident. He’d learned all his phrases from some ancient books and not a real-life translator, Harry was vividly aware that it wasn’t the proper way to learn a language at all. 

But he'd managed to shakily ask the man to have dinner with him and that was his goal for this morning. Whether he said yes or no was the terrifying part of his plan that Harry could not predict. 

Before the man had a chance to respond however, all the while Harry’s heart beating like a snitch’s wings, the elevator doors dinged open and they were interrupted. Two witches from the Hit Wizard department stepped on, chatting lively to each other before noticing Harry’s elevator companion. 

“Oh, good morning, Draco! Lovely weather outside, isn’t it? We were going to ask to have the staff lunch out on the roof today.” One of the witches greeted happily, the man stiffly nodding and stepping back to make room for them, his smile from before gone.

“It is. I’m sure Tabitha wouldn’t mind. We’ve been locked up in that conference room all week, would be an appreciated escape.” The man responded in perfect English, not even a single hint of a French accent in his tone. His accent sounded very southern, actually. 

But the man seemed distracted, politely responding to his workmates while glancing over their heads to Harry with a look of concern.  


Harry could only stare back at the French wizard with wide eyes, this ‘Draco’ person the two witches had spoken to, his body feeling cold and shaky with sudden realization. 

The beautiful French Hit-Wizard he’d been rambling to all week could, in fact, speak perfect English. Not only that, but he basically knew every minute detail of Harry’s life. All of which Harry had idiotically told to him in blissful naivety. He even knew right from the start that Harry thought he was attractive, he'd said it out loud enough bloody times to solidify that fact.

And then Harry had been an even stupider fool and tried to ask him to dinner in shitty, broken French.

Oh Merlin's Beard.

Harry stared down at his briefcase in manic anxiety, trying to calm his harried breathing, the two witches chatting happily beside him as he waited in shameful horror for the lift to reach his floor. 

He'd been embarrassed a few times in his life before, but never had he felt so utterly mortified.

When the doors opened for his department, he muttered out a harried “Excuse me.” and avoiding eye contact with the French man he’d been conversing at all week, too embarrassed to meet his eyes while he escaped.

The doors closed behind him, Harry nodding weakly to Sarah as he fled for his office.

He would never use the lifts again after this. He was just going to live in his office and never go home again. Its not like there was anything important there, just his clothes and two or three personal items he could easily have brought to the Ministry.  
Harry hid behind his desk with the door of his office shut, burying his head in his arms and wallowing in embarrassment. 

He’d been somewhat excited this morning about asking the man out. 

The worst he’d expected was a polite no. The actual proceedings were so much worse then he’d imagined. 

\---

Several hours later, sitting in his office and eating his cucumber sandwich from home, Harry was listlessly sorting through time-off requests. He'd felt resolute about the biggest failure of his adult life, certain that no matter what he did, he would be stuck in this empty office alone with no one to ever go home to. 

Perhaps it was a bit dramatic, to think about his outlook like that, but really. He'd struck out terrifically in front of his own personal French James Bond. Harry felt like he was allowed to wallow in self-pity for a few hours. It's not like anyone was in his office to judge him.

He was momentarily interrupted when a memo zipped through his open door. Which didn't happen often, people didn't send him memos anymore. It was a deep emerald green paper, a colour that caught Harry's attention away from his filing. He reached out for it, curious of it’s origins and the blatant disregard for ministry-regulated memo paper.

When he managed to unfold it, the beautiful curling script distracted him before he began to read.

 

_You have my sincerest apologies about our misunderstanding this morning.  
Et oui. J'aimerais dîner avec toi._

__

__

_\- Draco Malfoy_  
Hit-Wizard Consulate Affairs, French Sector.  
French Bureau of Magical Affairs

_P.s. That means yes, I would love to go to dinner with you._

**Author's Note:**

> Might be tempted to write more of this lol Poor Harry deserves some excitement in his life.
> 
> Disclosure: I do speak french but I'm lazy lol The translations are as close as I could get without making the english sound odd and formal *:･ﾟ✧ 
> 
> Come scream with me on [Tumblr](https://featherflairs.tumblr.com/) (´ ▽ ` )ﾉ


End file.
